


Remembrance Day

by dandelionpower



Category: Being Human (UK), The Almighty Johnsons
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Mitchell is old
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-04
Updated: 2016-04-04
Packaged: 2018-05-31 07:38:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6461590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelionpower/pseuds/dandelionpower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mitchell and his boyfriend travel to Ireland. The vampire takes this opportunity to show Anders his hometown. An unexpected encounter troubles Mitchell to the core.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remembrance Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katyushha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katyushha/gifts).



> Big thanks to Katyushha who proofread that drabble that was also a part of her birthday present.

 

“Where are we going?” Anders questions, looking out the window of the car at the green pastures of a typical Irish landscape.

Mitchell makes the car take a smooth turn on the highway. “I’m bringing you somewhere special,” he replies, eyes not leaving the road.  

“Why does the word “special” sound so creepy in your mouth?”  

“Perhaps because I’m not a preschool teacher,” is the flat answer.   

The vampire can hear the impatient drumming of his lover’s fingers against the door’s lock.

“Why don’t you want to tell me where you are going?”  

“I have my reasons,” the brunet asserts, without further explanations.  

“You think I would not want to come if you told me?”  

“There is a bit of that, yes,” Mitchell admits.  

Anders huffs as he loosens his tie. He is clearly overdressed for a day of roaming the Irish countryside. It makes Mitchell smile. Anders wouldn’t be Anders if he was not overdressed all the time.   

“You know I would follow you to the end of the world,” Anders declares, his tone slightly derisive.  

“You’d complain all the way there.”

“Yes,” Anders admits. “But I would still follow you.”

“Oh Anders, my knees are going weak,” Mitchell snickers, but there is fondness behind the sarcastic tone of the comment.

“Careful with your knees,” the Kiwi warns, looking out the window again, “your need them to drive… and other important things.”

 

***

“Welcome to Dundalk! Whoa! It has not changed one bit,“ the vampire marvels. “That used to be a soap factory though,” he informs his lover, pointing at some trite pub squeezed between two taller, grey buildings.

“You lived here?”

The vampire has a proud smile. “I was born and raised here.”

“A soap factory…” Anders muses. “I’m surprised to learn that people washed back then.”

Mitchell throws his lover a glare.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Anders defends himself. “I’m still trying to find a rational explanation for your lack of hygiene. “

Mitchell does not dignify that last comment with an answer: partly because it’s useless to try to outwit Anders, and also because there are so many pedestrians, cars and bicycles in the narrow street that Mitchell has to concentrate not to hit anybody.

“It seems quite busy for such a lost little town. Is it always like that?” Anders inquires.

“No,” Mitchell replies, “but then again, the last time I came here, cars were a rare thing… I wonder if…” he trails off before he asks: “What day is it?”

Since they arrived in Dublin, the couple spent most of their time making good use of their hotel room’s bed. As a result, they have lost the notion of time a little. Anders has to fetch his phone from his jacket and take a look. “Hm, Thursday.”

“The date I mean.”

“November 11th.”

Mitchell’s eyes lightens up. “That makes sense. I heard that Remembrance Day is quite an important business around here. I wonder if we missed the parade,” the vampire says as he pulls the car in the first empty space he could find along the street. He turns the engine off and puts his sunglasses on his nose. “Come on!” he urges the Kiwi, already walking away as soon as they are both out of the car.   

Anders zips his jacket, sticks his hands into his pockets and follows his excited boyfriend with a resigned sigh.

Much to Mitchell’s disappointment, the commemorative ceremony is over. There is still a crowd on the central place in front of the little church and a few veterans in wheelchairs. The vampire is not afraid of being recognized by anybody he used to know. The local boys who had fought by his side are long gone. There are a few new shops, and also an old pub that Mitchell had forgotten about, but he can still see himself as a young boy, climbing the church’s stairs every Sunday, in his stiff, brown trousers and that wool cardigan that itched so much.

Not even looking over his shoulder to see if Anders is following, Mitchell makes his way through the crowd of villagers and tourists to the cenotaph at the center of the place. He takes his sunglasses off and scans the long list of names, taking a halt at the section dedicated to the First World War soldiers. The alphabetic order stretches to the letter “M”.

Mitchell only notices Anders was gone when he comes back. The blond man tears his lover from his trance when he pins a poppy flower he has just purchased to Mitchell’s jacket. “There you go, soldier.”

“Thank you,” the vampire breathes, not quite returning Anders’ smile.

The god frowns, but before he can ask what is the origin of the trouble he can read in the hazel eyes, Mitchell points his finger at the base of the monument. “Look.”

Anders’ gaze follows the indicated direction. “Oh,” he utters when he sees it as well.

“It’s you,” Anders whispers, conscious that there are people around who can hear him.

Mitchell only nods, still staring at his own name among all his deceased mates.  

Anders does not say anything. This is not a time for snarky comments or jeering. He only accompanies Mitchell in silent contemplation.

They have been there for a few minutes already when something collides with the brunet’s knee. When Mitchell looks to the ground, there is a yellow toy truck next to his feet.   

The toy most likely belongs to the little boy with a dark, curly mane seated in a stroller nearby. He does not seem to be older than three years old and he giggles when Mitchell looks at him.  

“I’m so sorry,” the boy’s mother apologizes with a fine, Northern-Ireland brogue. “He always throws his toys like he is training for the world cup.” She motions to pick up the truck but Mitchell is faster.

“No harm done,” he reassures her. “That’s a nice truck you have there, buddy,” he tells the wiggling little boy, giving him his toy.

“I’m John, by the way,” Mitchell introduces himself, reaching to the mother for a handshake, “and this is my…” He is going to say “friend”, out of habit and because, after all, they are in Ireland and Mitchell wants to protect his lover from any kind of homophobic reaction. But he also has to remember that this is not 1913. Gay marriage is legal in Ireland now. It proves that people are considerably less prejudiced now than they were when Mitchell lived here. “This is my partner Anders,” he goes on with more confidence.

The woman does not seem scandalized in the slightest. “I’m Samantha,” she introduces herself, shaking John’s hand and then Anders’ with a smile in her warm, brown eyes. “And that little rascal here is Nathan.”

“Nathan!,” the toddler repeats.

“The weather is good today, don’t you think?” the Kiwi questions her.

This is Anders trying to blend in and Mitchell can’t help a little smile.

“Not so bad I reckon!”Samantha beams. She seems happy that someone asked her opinion on the matter. “You are not from around here, are you?”

“I’m from Ireland originally, but Anders is from New Zealand and I’m living there now,” Mitchell explains. “What about you? If I may ask.”

“I live in Belfast,” Samantha informs him, “my husband works there for a law firm, but my father was born here, in Dundalk: as well as my ancestors on several generations. I come here every year for Remembrance Day: it’s my way to pay homage to them. History and genealogy are my personal passions.”

“Do you have ancestors who fought in the World Wars?” Anders questions, in a polite attempt to make conversation.  

“Not in 1939-1945, but in the first one, yes,” she replies. “My Great-grandfather fought in France, and he lost his twin brother there.”

“Oh,” Mitchell breathes. He exchanges a quick glance with his boyfriend. Anders notices he looks almost panicked. John and his brother Thomas are most probably the only pair of twins from that little town to have fought together in World War One.    

Fortunately, Samantha doesn’t seem to have noticed anything. “That’s him, the twin brother, that’s his name here,” she adds, leaning forward to put her  forefinger on the line the vampire has been reading and rereading for the past fifteen minutes:  

_John Mitchell - died 1917 – age 25._

Anders can almost hear Mitchell gulp.

Unaware of what is going on, Samantha keeps on with her story: “My great-grand-uncle John destroyed a whole stash of German munitions. He died in the explosion, but his sacrifice saved his whole regiment. He got a medal for that. His family received it by the mail after the war. I still have that medal somewhere at home. He also saved my great grandfather, you know. Because they really looked alike, John went on that suicide mission at his brother’s place and also saved his life that way. My grandfather was named after him.”  

“Is your last name Mitchell?” Anders inquires.

“It’s ‘Foreman’ now,” she corrects him with a smile. “But “Mitchell” is indeed my maiden name.”

Mitchell opens his mouth to say something, but he can’t make a sound and he closes it right away.

The young woman gives him a funny look, but she remains polite and smiling. “I’m sorry. I’m going to have to leave you at it. This little wolf here will soon get hungry and grumpy,” she apologizes, tucking the little boy’s head under his hat.

“It was very nice to meet you, Samantha,” Mitchell manages to stutter, throat tight and dry. Anders can see that his boyfriend is a bit teary-eyed and that he tries his best to hide it.

“And it was a pleasure to meet you both. I hope you have a great holiday on the emerald island,” she replies.  

“Thank you,” Anders supplies for Mitchell who is still too choked up by emotion to say something intelligible. “Have a nice day! Bye Nathan,’ Anders says, waving at the little boy.

The vampire stands there, motionless like a statue, watching the young woman walk away.

“Are you alright?” Anders worries, putting a hand on the Irishman’s arm.

The Irishman does not confirm or deny. “I knew Thomas had had a bunch of children. I expected I would stumble on one of his descendants one day or another,” he simply says.

 

***

Mitchell is silent all the way back to the car.

“Where do you want to go now that we are done strolling down memory lane?” Anders questions with careful detachment as he buckles his seat belt. “Are you hungry?”  

“I want to go back to the hotel room and have sex,” Mitchell groans. The engine starts with a similar, angry sound.

“Ohh, easy, tiger!” the Kiwi laughs. “Not that I’m complaining, but what exactly is that sudden surge of testosterone about?

“I feel old…” Mitchell complains. “Old and dead… and I don’t want to feel that way.”

“Well, I have news for you: you _are_ old and dead,” Anders points out, unfeeling.   

“You are not helping, Anders,” Mitchell growls as he makes their rented Land Rover navigate through the people and parked car.    

“Don’t worry. I’m going to give you what you need,” Anders reassures the Irishman. His lips crook into a smirk. “And if you have a great-granddad kink, I’m ready to indulge it. I can even call you “granny” if you want.”  

“You are disgusting,” Mitchell snorts.

Anders only grins at his lover, as if being disgusting is something he has every right to be proud of. Truth is, his mocking was meant to cheer Mitchell up, and it obviously didn’t work. The vampire is frowning like the windshield is a mortal enemy, and Anders can see his jawline tense in anger. The Kiwi doesn’t attempt anything. He knows pushing Mitchell is not a good idea. He has to wait for his lover to relax or speak on his own.

Twenty kilometers later, the vampire is still deadly silent.   

In a tentative and, he hopes, comforting attempt, Anders puts his hand on Mitchell’s knee.

It seems like the gesture unlocks something in the brunet’s mind and the words starts flowing out. “Herrick made that up: the story about the munitions, the medal and all! I know it’s him,” Mitchell fumes. “That’s one of his sick little games again! Now they think I’m a hero!”

“What’s the problem with them thinking you are a hero?” Anders questions.  

“Because I’m not! I’m a killer! I’m a criminal! The last thing I did before I fled was to poison my superior and drink him dry, remember?! Do you think those are the acts of a hero? And that poor woman thinks I’m some kind of a model!”  

Anders sighs. “You sacrificed yourself so the men of your regiment would not be turned by Herrick, didn’t you?”

No answer comes from the driver’s side of the car.

“And you also saved your brother,” Anders adds. “That woman and her son: they would not even exist if you had not volunteered to go to battle in Thomas’ place. Maybe she doesn’t know all the truth, but she is right to think you are a hero.”  

This time, Mitchell reacts. His eyes leave the road long enough to look at Anders: trying to figure out if he is joking. “You think I’m a hero?”  

“In a way,” Anders mutters under his breath, always careful not to commit himself too much.

A little smile is back on the vampire’s lips. Anders sees the smile progressively widen and he thinks it was not a good sign. He is proven right when Mitchell started to sing: “I can be your hero, baby. I can kiss away the pain. I will stand by you forever. You can take my breath away- ”

“Stop that already, John Mitchell,” Anders warns him, “or I swear my penis will crawl inside my body and never come out.”  

“That would be a shame,” Mitchell comments, growing darker, “because I still have plans for you once we’re back in our room.” His voice is rough around the edges now and a pleasant shiver of anticipation goes down Anders’ spine. His hand brushes up Mitchell’s thigh and he glances at the GPS to see how much time is left before they get back to the hotel.

 

***

 

Mitchell’s gentle fingers stroke the back of Anders’ neck. Eyes to the ceiling, Mitchell hums to the music of acoustic guitar coming from the hotel room’s antique radio. Anders, on the other hand, hums for another reason: the pleasant contrast of Mitchell’s cool digits on his hot, sweaty skin.

Suddenly the humming stops. Anders cranes his neck to look at his lover. Mitchell seems far away: somewhere the Kiwi can’t reach him. At least not until the vampire decides to come back to the present.

A few minutes later, he finally breaks the silence. “Maybe it’s a good thing they remember me as a hero,” he ponders. “It’s comforting to them. And it must have been comforting for my Ma and Da as well. They could never bury me, but they had that medal.”

“Yes,” Anders approves. “At least you are not remembered as the old, weird ass uncle who lived alone in the woods, drowned cats and dyed his chicken’s feathers to sort them.”

”Thank god,” Mitchell chuckles. “I always was a bit of a loner and war did funny things to our heads, but I don’t think I would have turned that crazy.” He rests his cheek against Anders forehead and pauses, thoughtful. “Do you think I’ll ever see them again: Samantha and Nathan?”

“I don’t know,” Anders replies in all honesty. “Maybe you can come back in fifty years or so. At least, Nathan won’t remember he saw you once.”

“Yes… maybe I’ll come back one day.”


End file.
